


Apples

by 20thcenturyvole



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/20thcenturyvole/pseuds/20thcenturyvole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed to Shadowfax that the only constants in his life were swords and apples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apples

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I think it makes sense.

It seemed to Shadowfax that the only constants in his life were swords and apples, and tall, robed people holding sticks.

As has been noted in the annals of history, Shadowfax was very intelligent for a horse. He had in the blossom of his youth seen all manner of horrific threats and ghastly sights. He’d plowed through vast armies of grotesque orcs and uruk-hai; he’d faced down fell beasts and their evil masters; he’d even endured being ridden by a hobbit with the most uncomfortable riding posture he’d ever known. However, he was sure he’d never seen anything like this.

Shadowfax raised his head from the lush, green grass of Valinor, vaguely aware that something important had just happened, though he couldn’t remember what. All he knew was that he felt stronger than he had in years; he certainly felt capable of squaring up to the thing that fell from the star-strewn sky. It crashed into the turf in a shower of soil and little white things only a few yards away.

He trotted over to investigate. As he did so he became aware of strange things happening very slowly out of the corner of his vision, but he decided they weren’t as interesting, so he ignored them.

Dozens of bleached bones, some big, some small, were scattered within a small, gently smoking crater. Shadowfax sniffed cautiously, whinnied in surprise and flicked his ears back – it was a horse skeleton, and what’s more, it was moving. Shadowfax reared, and kicked the jittering skull, which bounced away across the field.

At once the bones stopped moving, and the blue glow around them faded.

WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU DO THAT FOR?

Shadowfax, momentarily pleased with himself, snorted and stopped short of kicking it again. He suddenly had the horribly unfamiliar feeling of having upset something more powerful than himself.

A tall, black-clad figure _had_ been striding across the grass, but mere feet from where Shadowfax stood it tripped over a rogue femur and staggered to its knees, cursing. Shadowfax wondered with some degree of bemusement if the creature was in league with the dark forces, and then wondered rather more desperately where Gandalf was. Surely his Istar wouldn’t leave him alone with this obviously fell thing, would he? What was it, anyway?

The figure had now righted itself, and with the aid of a long stick, hobbled over to Shadowfax, who backed away until he met a strange resistance, like he was tethered to something by his hocks. He didn’t like that – no one had ever dared tether him since he was a foal, and never had he felt a more keen urge to be away from a creature than now; oh, he could see that the figure was vaguely humanoid and dressed like a rider, but this didn’t count for much: so were Nazgul.

The creature reached inside its robes, fumbled about a bit, and brought out a large hourglass filled with white sand. It inspected it critically, and peered at Shadowfax. SHADOWFAX, CHIEF OF THE MEARAS? it asked.

Shadowfax snorted nervously.

ONE MOMENT. The figure replaced the hourglass, rummaged a bit more, and thrust something at Shadowfax with a brusque air.

HAVE AN APPLE, it said.

Oh, thought Shadowfax. This was all right, then. It wanted to feed him.

He took the apple gently between his teeth, and dropped it to the ground, so he could sniff it properly. It was black, a very unusual colour for an apple, and smelled indefinably odd, but it was large and delicious.

While he munched the apple peacefully, he was aware of a grumbled litany going on some feet away. The black-robed figure was stooped over the smoking pile of horse-bones, muttering words like the crash of cliffs into the sea, and doing eldritch things with wire.

...WHY I BOTHER WITH THIS THING...

( _twing_ )

... ALWAYS HAVING TO STOP AND WIRE BITS BACK ON...

( _twong_ )

... NO IDEA WHY I STARTED IN THE FIRST PLACE...

( _groioioiong_ )

Shadowfax had finished the apple, and now stared curiously as the figure stood back and waved its significantly thin arms in an encouraging manner. The assembled heap of bones rose into the air, glowing a violent shade of eau-de-nil. Then the aura flickered, the structure trembled, and with a mutter of OH, SOD IT ANYWAY the whole thing crashed back to earth. Ribs pinwheeled away into the darkness.

IT WAS WORSE THAN THE FIERY STEED, the figure said to no one in particular, in something approaching a wistful tone. AT LEAST THAT WAS RELIABLE, EVEN IF IT DID SET FIRE TO THE STABLES.

It turned back to Shadowfax and pulled out the hourglass again, stared at it, stared at the stick, (which had sprouted a shadow-thin blade since Shadowfax had last seen it) and then, after some consideration, pulled out a magnificent sword that glowed in a strangely familiar way...

AHEM, it said doggedly. SHADOWFAX, CHIEF OF THE MEARAS, A.K.A THE STEED OF OLORIN, A.K.A. THAT BLOODY HORSE HAS EATEN MY LEMBAS AGAIN, A.K.A... BINKY?

Shadowfax chuffed and pawed the ground. Stupid Eowyn. She may have been only a foal at the time, but he would never forgive her.

YOU KNOW, YOU LOOK LIKE A BINKY, the figure said, staring critically at him. Shadowfax tossed his head in a way that he hoped indicated his opinion, which was that no steed that had survived the horrors of the Third Age should have a name any sillier than, to pick a random example, Snowmane.

NO, HONESTLY. YOU COULD PULL THAT OFF.

Shadowfax stared at him, ears flicking cynically. Certain important details had percolated through his brain by now, including the fact that he wouldn’t need any name anymore, wherever he was going. Did Mandos have stables?

Death reached out and stroked one of his ears, swinging the sword hesitantly in the other hand. ... AND IT WOULD BE SUCH A SHAME...

He suddenly looked furious. I’M DOING IT AGAIN! I KEEP THINKING LIKE _HER_. WHY SHOULD I EVEN CARE WHAT I LOOK LIKE, OR WHAT BLASTED STEED I RIDE?

Shadowfax, in the spirit of optimism, chose that moment to investigate Death’s robes for more apples.

STOP THAT, Death said reproachfully. I HAVEN’T GOT ANY MORE. He patted Shadowfax’s nose thoughtfully. ALTHOUGH, he said ...I COULD GET SOME FOR YOU. IF YOU WANTED THEM.

That last sentence had the curl of a question mark hovering about it. Shadowfax whinnied amicably, and allowed Death to swing up onto his back, which wasn’t as uncomfortable as it should have been.

All of a sudden, he felt good, healthy; much stronger than he’d been in many years – strong as in the blossom of his youth, when he could outrun the wind and his hooves had barely had to touch the ground. In fact...

He stepped forward and up into the blue night air. Nothing to it.

He flicked his ears and tossed his tail and stamped his hooves on the solid sky. The prow of Earendil’s ship burned brightly on its path through the vaulted heavens, and, not for the first time, Shadowfax wondered what it would be like to outrun the light...

I REALLY DO THINK YOU LOOK LIKE A BINKY, THOUGH, said Death.

Shadowfax snorted. Whatever. He was only in it for the apples.


End file.
